uk: oban to the isle of iona

I took this photo to record the first moments of my first morning in Scotland.

We stayed in the fishing village of Oban at the Regent Hotel - decorated with 1940's furniture, art-nouveau lettered signs and faded prints. At most hours in the small lounge, even into the night, a scattering of people with white hair, old-fashioned dresses and soothing brogues sat around little wooden tables, sipping whiskey from the bar.

I loved my room with the warbled glass windows, the narrow creaking bed, the porcelain bathroom (with a hot-water generator at hand). The room looked out over a scattering of buildings and the sea, more Scottish hills visible in the distance - gray shadows through the morning fog. The ratio of Oban's pubs to other buildings is impressive, some pubs garishly colorful and others, like The Cellar, only accessible through a narrow stairway.

The day after our arrival we ventured to the Isle of Iona. To journey there we road a ferry to the Isle of Mull across which we drove for over an hour to yet another ferry, the final ride to one of the world's most sacred places.

A sacred legacy resonates from the scattering of ancient celtic crosses and roofless, centuries-old buildings. I felt in awe that so much of the world's spiritual fate emanated from this tiny, isolated island, from the order that exists today to St. Columba's landing from Ireland to ancient Druid rites; I believe that there are some places, like this, that are inherently spiritual.